The Unknown

You see them on the street, you see them in the bar, you see them in department stores and you see them smiling in pictures.
They walk among us like perfect dolls who control their bodies and force happy struts down sidewalks and avenues.
But would you ever suspect that the piercing eye of sorrow follows them around like a dull ray erupting migraines?
Imagine a child-like god holding a magnifying glass, a sadist, who burns them with every harsh glare.
And what if I told you these individuals are their own manic deities that end the world day by day and blacken out the sky?
They are your waiters, they are your co-workers, they are the looking model at the clubs and the prince of the evening.
Between shots and laughter there is a catacomb which is always there; it absorbs all and slowly stabs the soul.
Sometimes it is quick and happens all at once, but they have trained themselves to numb it down and act dumb.
Because in an unsuspecting world it’s easier to hide and blend in like a shadow in the endless vacuum of space.
All of us, whether you’re a ruler or a servant, are merely just a projection to feed and watch react at given gestures.
A smile, a handshake, a witty joke and a bite of their bottom lip; it’s an upper-layer to a lower surface that cannot be defined.
Perhaps torment, perhaps sorrow, or perhaps the earthly desire to white it out and feel the soul cross the line –
– to a place where darkness is an understatement, these people long to slice the stem and the collapse the bud.
For it may appear as though they are flourishing with opulence; however, they wither in the mind’s relentless winter.
Nevertheless, one may never see their porcelain face crack until the next day a phone call informs the truth.
This is the part where we ask ourselves how it could have happened with their perfect lives and perfect friends.
We question how these things are possible and look for any clues which may put together an accurate explanation.
The tragedy is it was always there, like a billboard or a cacophonous siren banging loudly on our eardrums.
The subtle glimmer in their eyes of desperation and a raging need beneath the skin to rip out and hold us close.
For we are distant and caught up in our own plots, too busy to ask or care to see how another person is doing.
We are a depth that one is afraid to swim crossed in both a fear of drowning and rejection to add towards suffering.
In essence, we are strangers who flock to death with open hands when we should’ve held the virtue of life.
We are the unknown.

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I have currently been busy with life and I will be re-publishing older poems. New poems will come. I'm always under construction.

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